


Spare Parts

by seamonster



Series: Some Assembly Required [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cute, Human Zenyatta, Modern Era, Other, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamonster/pseuds/seamonster
Summary: A likely to be small collection of random little things I write for my favorite robot boyfriend.
Relationships: Tekhartha Zenyatta/Reader
Series: Some Assembly Required [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1186529
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Bookshop AU 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started posting this yesterday, had to pause, forgot, came back to the open web page and it refreshed and erased everything I'd already filled out so I almost didn't post this just because that kinda annoyed the shit outta me.
> 
> But I digress, here we go.

One of your favorite things was introducing Zenyatta to different forms of entertainment. Not to say he was ignorant of movies or music, but you had a slightly wider range of entertaining activities you favored. And you didn't care one bit if they were considered nerdy. 

"Did that… make sense?" 

He hummed from the other side of the coffee table, taking in the information you were helping him fill in on the character sheet. On the table were several open manuals and reference guides you were drawing from for inspiration. 

"This is a delightfully complex game, isn't it?"

You couldn't help laughing slightly.

"And we haven't even started playing it, yet."

"And you're certain just the two of us will be enough?"

You gave a nod and a hum, shuffling your own sheets together to try and organize what you'd written for the campaign.

"One player, one game master. It's enough. Unless you wanted to invite someone to join us?"

Zenyatta shook his head. "Oh no, no, I'm looking forward to playing as just the two of us."

His words brought a light flush into your cheeks. Especially when he said them with such a cute expression on his face, smiling almost shyly down at his work. This man was going to be the early death of you.

Had you been asked several years prior, when you were first getting your humble little business off the ground, where you expected to see yourself in the years to come? It would not have looked like this. One little used bookshop, three shop cats, and a former monk had become, well, your whole life at this point. Tekartha Zenyatta started off as just a customer, coming into the shop whenever he travelled to your country and city with his brother. Both of them from Nepal. Mondatta was some kind of goodwill ambassador. Zenyatta was just curious about the world. When he said he wanted to stay, you offered him a job and your spare room. It was one of the best impulse decisions you'd ever made. Not only was he great down in the shop, but he was a very kind and considerate roommate. 

He was also beautiful. How he smiled with his eyes and handled literally everything with gentle care. The sound of his voice had quickly become a great comfort; his laughter like music.

Zen broke you from your thoughts, sitting back against the couch with a look of pride.

"I believe I'm finished."

Happy for an excuse to lean closer, you glanced through his character sheet once more. Everything was written neatly and concise. You couldn't find any issues.

"I believe you're right."

"Wonderful!"

You couldn't help chuckling slightly. Both at how cute the man was, and the fact that he chose the monk class for his character.


	2. Unfinished Depression-Era Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have started and stopped several ideas for little Zen-centric stories during the present height of my depression. Here is one I wrapped up with a neat little bow. Very short.

He looked at you more often than you had any experience with. Not staring, necessarily. It never felt like that, he simply… noticed you, where many didn't. Casually, off-hand. If you were in the same room together, he took notice. Even acknowledged you when your eyes met; with a nod or a wave.

It had been jarring for a solid month, kept you more on edge than usual. Being seen wasn't typically part of your life-experience. You were quiet, standing just to the side of everyone else's everyday life on the base. Noticed and thought of largely in passing. 

Usually.

Until Tekartha Zenyatta joined your wandering orbit. And he saw you.

It made something inside of you feel horribly misaligned. He wasn't unkind. In the complete opposite breath, you'd never met anyone so gentle. It made interacting with him strange; like rubbing silk against calloused feet. It made your brain flinch, kinda. 

Kinda like that.

But he still tried with you; a patience inside of him more suited to gods than mere mortals. You didn’t understand it, either. Why he made such efforts. Why he’d choose to sit with you in the commissary, at the strange times of the day and night you’d choose to take your meals. He didn’t eat, and he often didn’t make you converse with him either. He simply sat near you and meditated, making occasional, innocuous comments. 

It took a while, but eventually your shoulders stopped tensing around him. You got used to his presence, to the warm glow that seemed to surround him. To the gentle sounds of his systems humming. With gentle, easy prodding, he became familiar to you. Someone you might even call a friend.

Imagine that, you made a friend without even trying.

And you truly didn’t try. 

It felt like most of the recalled agents couldn’t seem to remember that you’d been with Overwatch before the fall. Your face was unfamiliar to them, only your name seeming to bring the tickle of a memory to a small handful. Athena still had your records on file, of course. So you’d been accepted, welcomed back. And while you were included in missions and assignments, no one really spoke with you outside of work. No idle conversations and friendly chatting. You were nearly invisible behind the waves of their own troubled spirits. There but forgotten.

It had hurt in the beginning, but you were numb to it now. It wasn’t personal, it was just life. You came back because you wanted to help, making friends with members of the old strike teams wasn’t necessary. It didn’t hurt anymore. Despite that, being able to call Zenyatta a friend… it soothed you in a way you hadn’t realized you’d been hurting. Made you choke up to think about.

“Meditation is meant to be a cleansing of the mind, my friend.”

Zenyatta tilted his head towards you in amusement, somehow knowing, despite the silence of the night, that your mind was anything but empty.

The blanket from your bunk was spread out underneath you both on the roof of one of the base’s labs, full moon heavy in the sky above. Yet the peace of the night was not reflected within you.

At first you offered little more than a shrug, still staring out at the stars until you could tear your gaze away. It was easier to meet his gaze than it used to be. 

“Too much in here to cleanse, I suppose.”

Zenyatta shook his head softly from side to side. “There is never too much. It simply takes practice and a desire to know peace.”

He placed one of his hands on his bent knee, palm up and open. You couldn’t help glancing at it, at how your knees were almost touching. How close you were letting him sit next to you. How warm he was.

“Some people would say that trying to forget your problems means you’re just trying to run from them.”

His fingers were relaxed, the metal worn around every joint. Zenyatta chuckled softly, knowing you weren’t trying to to be contrary just to be difficult. 

“Meditation isn’t about forgetting your troubles, it is a path to freeing yourself from them. To bring yourself above them, so that your fears and insecurities do not conquer you.”

Conquering fears, huh?

You met his eyes again, admiring the way the moonlight brushed along his burnished face plate. The lights in his forehead twinkled like stars.

Your hand was moving before you formed the decision to do so, finding a tentative home in his upturned palm. Fingers brushed carefully over his as you looked up to the moon again.

“Help me?”

You missed his apparent surprise, how he looked to your hand in his. Soft skin against the hard rubber of his palm. Both warm, now warmer together.

As warm as his voice when he replied.

“Of course.”


End file.
